


Do Not Go Gentle

by romanticalgirl



Category: Bandom, Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (Album), My Chemical Romance
Genre: M/M, Rimming, Waycest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-18
Updated: 2010-10-18
Packaged: 2017-10-23 10:48:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/249453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanticalgirl/pseuds/romanticalgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some things are casualties of a former life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Do Not Go Gentle

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [](http://inlovewithnight.livejournal.com/profile)[**inlovewithnight**](http://inlovewithnight.livejournal.com/) for the beta. This is for [](http://turps33.livejournal.com/profile)[**turps33**](http://turps33.livejournal.com/) who wanted Mikeyway, Motorcycles, Waycest and Rimming. ♥

  
Gerard is on watch, listening to Dr. Death Defying’s broadcast in the background. He should be out in the desert, running the zones with the rest of the guys, but the kid needs her sleep, and tonight’s raid is a smash and grab, better suited to the cycles. Still, he hates standing around, waiting, wondering. They’re a team, and they should be together, work together. Another zone and they’ll return the kid to Doctor D, and then Frank will ride shotgun while Mikey and Ray weave around them and everything will be back to normal.

He laughs softly, wondering what the fuck normal is anymore. He doesn’t look back; none of them do. They all learned that lesson early, raging forward to try to outrun the ghosts following them. This is anarchy, no rules except the ones they adopt for themselves.

The broadcast fades off with the sunset and he sees the first warning signs in the column of dust rising up in the distance. They all hate the desert – sand and dust and miles and miles of nothing – but nothing sneaks up on them here, all those things they hate working to their advantage.

He unsnaps his holster and curves his hand over the grip of his laser gun, the heavy synthetic molded to his palm from overuse. Mikey’s bike comes into view, the red sky and fading sun glinting off the silver letters on his helmet. Gerard doesn’t release his grip on his gun until Mikey swings off the bike, even though Gerard recognized the angles and lines of his body as soon as he was actually in sight. They learned the hard way that people can be different when you see them again, and it’s a lesson they won’t ever forget.

Heat and dust swirl around Gerard’s feet as Mikey takes off his helmet, his hair matted to his head with sweat, the long swoop of his bangs curling against his brow. Gerard looks him over carefully because Mikey never mentions when he gets hit, but Gerard knows he has the melted scars on his skin, cauterized before they can bleed.

“I’m fine, Gee.” There’s almost a sigh in Mikey’s tone, that younger brother exasperation that Gerard’s heard all his life. Mikey always found his over-protective tendencies more amusing than anything, until a lifetime ago in the Paramour.

“Yeah, yeah. We’re all fine. C’mere.” Mikey subjects himself to Gerard’s inspection, turning in a slow circle several times, the last time on tiptoe and with his arms over his head like a ballerina. Gerard snorts a laugh and slaps Mikey’s ass. “You’re fucking grace and beauty.”

Mikey laughs, his little giggle that Gerard hears far too infrequently and misses far too much. “I’m not fucking anyone except my left hand, as you three know.”

“Show Pony…”

“I don’t want Show Pony.” There’s something dangerous in Mikey’s tone, and Gerard has to rub his hand against his hip, the clammy sweat of his palm on the warm faded gray of his jeans. Mikey reaches out and traces a line down Gerard’s throat.

Gerard swallows against the pressure, his whole body tight with tension and want. Things are different now, the rules have changed. Comfort is where you find it, where you can take it, and whatever lines existed in the world before have been washed over with dust and death, splattered with blood and bodies.

Or maybe they haven’t. Maybe they still exist for the people who haven’t lost almost everyone they love. “Frank,” he whispers. “And Ray.”

“Meet them in Zone Three in two hours. Just like we planned.” Mikey lets his hand curve around the back of Gerard’s neck. They’ve done this before, kissed and touched, pressed against one another until the world exploded and shattered enough that they could fall asleep, but this is different. He can feel Mikey’s intent like a living thing.

“The kid.”

Mikey takes a step forward and Gerard takes one back, starting as he comes up against the bike. He steadies himself, hand curving along the seat, still warm from Mikey’s body. “What about her?” There’s enough in Mikey’s voice that Gerard knows he’ll stop if Gerard says the word. The knowledge relaxes him, though at the same time, all he can think is that he doesn’t want Mikey to stop.

“She’s sleeping.” He swallows hard and a shudder runs through him at Mikey’s slow smile. “We’ll have to be quiet.”

He barely finishes his sentence before Mikey’s against him, mouth on Gerard’s. It’s barely there at first, which surprises him. He expected aggression and instead it’s a slow, gradual progression as Mikey moves closer, presses harder, slides his tongue along Gerard’s lips until they part, easy and willing. Mikey kisses like he used to play the bass, lost in it, totally surrendered to it. Gerard closes his eyes and sways forward until their bodies are flush, and he feels denim and leather and cotton and flesh and sweat and dust.

Mikey’s hand finds purchase in Gerard’s hair, fisting in the strands and tugging his head back. Teeth scrape against Gerard’s throat and he shudders, thrusting against Mikey. He murmurs Mikey’s name into the dying heat, night falling and bringing the freezing cold with it. Mikey sucks at the join of Gerard’s neck and shoulder, tugging the bandanna out of the way with his free hand to expose more of Gerard’s skin.

Gerard exhales roughly, his hands sliding over the slight curve of Mikey’s ass, squeezing. A low laugh rumbles in Mikey’s throat and then he’s gone, pulling back and making Gerard miss the heat. “M-” he breaks off and reaches for him, desperate for the contact now that he’s had it. “Mikey.”

Mikey curves a hand over Gerard’s shoulder and turns him. He goes easily, letting Mikey take complete control. Mikey speaks with his hands, soft grazes of his gloved fingers guiding Gerard silently until he’s braced on Mikey’s bike, his legs spread for balance.

He’s still aware of their surroundings, the easy abandon he had in another life one of the first sacrifices of this one, and part of him watches the sky, listening for the raspy filtered air of the Dracs, while the rest of him - most of him – coils in hot anticipation of _what’s next_ , waiting for Mikey’s touch.

He can barely feel it, but he knows it’s there, skimming down his leather jacket like Mikey’s fingers are tracing the rivulet of sweat down his spine. He can feel need like a living thing in the base of his cock, pressing against the gray denim, struggling for release. He rocks forward, seeking friction that isn’t there, then thrusts back as Mikey’s hands trace his belt, spanning his waist before they slide around to work the buckle and zipper and open him up. The heat dries the sweat at the base of his cock to salt, but he can still feel it in the fold of his thighs and the crack of his ass.

He shifts and his jeans fall, the holster on his thigh catching a bit before it slithers to the ground, his gun lying on the dirt as Mikey sinks down behind him. Gerard bites back a gasp and tries to spread his legs further as Mikey palms his ass and spreads him, his breath a ghost on Gerard’s skin in the instant before his tongue touches him.

Everything sharpens in that moment, the reds and purples and blacks of the sky flaring brighter, and his nails dig into the seat, trying to ground him in reality as Mikey’s tongue slides across his skin. Heat sparks in his spine, radiating outward as Mikey teases him, painting the muscle as it clenches. The tip of his tongue presses just enough against the resistance that it aches, and Gerard arches his back, pressing against the firm thrust until it penetrates him.

He bites back a gasp, trying to stay silent. Mikey’s thumbs dig into his ass, holding him open, and Gerard has to dig his nails into the seat of the bike to keep himself upright. He wants more, wants to bend over it and feel the gritty leather against his dick as Mikey licks and sucks at his skin, fucking him with his tongue. Gerard loses the battle to stay quiet, huffing out a desperate breath as Mikey curves his tongue and presses the firm tip against sensitive skin. “Fuck. Fuck. Oh, fuck, Mikey.”

He rises up on his toes, his gun making a soft sound as it moves against the dirt. He can feel the wet streak he leaves on the bike seat and he knows he’s close, can feel it as Mikey gets more aggressive, licking and thrusting until Gerard’s dick slides on the slick seat and he groans softy, coming wet and sticky against the leather and the soft cotton of his shirt.

It’s not graceful when he turns, but he manages not to knock the bike over, and he uses Mikey’s shoulder for support as he sinks to his knees, working his hand inside Mikey’s pants. He wraps his hand around Mikey’s cock, jerking it hard and tight inside the confines of his jeans. Mikey leans in, burying his face against Gerard’s neck, sucking and biting against the bristles shadowing his skin. The air is biting sharp and cold now that the sun’s down, and Gerard shivers as it whips his skin in direct contrast to Mikey’s warm breath.

Mikey shudders and gasps Gerard’s name, losing control and jerking hard into his hand. It abates the chill of the night for a moment and then it all rushes back in full force, adrenaline and arousal draining until they’re both shivering. Mikey makes a face at the seat of his bike and Gerard flips him off before adjusting his blaster on his thigh. “I’ll wake her up and we’ll go.”

Mikey nods and goes to grab a fistful of dirty rags from the bins inside the abandoned gas station to clean off the seat of his bike. When Gerard comes back out, carrying the kid who’s murmuring sleepily in his arms, Mikey’s already mounted up, helmet on and the bike purring between his legs. It shouldn’t turn him on, since he just got off, but it does, a flood of arousal and a different kind of heat, the warmth of family and familiarity. That flashes through him, and he gets hit with a memory, loading up his wife and daughter in their car on a trip to somewhere else for a while, singing along at the top of their lungs, unaware that the world was going to fall apart around them.

He tucks the kid into the car and kisses her forehead, then glances at Mikey before sliding in the driver’s seat and turning the engine over. The mouse head swings on the rearview mirror, and when he looks back, he sees Mikey drop his visor down in the second before he roars off past the Trans Am. Gerard revs the engine until it’s growling angrily before he takes his foot off the break. He fishtails as he floors the gas, leaving everything behind them in a cloud of dust.  



End file.
